SURVIVORS

CHAPTER TWO

"I do smile, it's just that I do it at the right time and not annoyingly". My tone ended the conversation.

We were done loading the both wheelbarrows and we began pushing them separately towards the barn which was several metres away from the farm.

I felt bad at how I spoke back at her and tried initiating a conversation. Zahra wasn't the type to hold grudges. Before we reached the barn, we were already grinning like idiots and hitting each others wheelbarrows playfully.

*                            *                            *

That night, I wasn't feeling sleepy. Samira and Zahra also, they crawled to my mat silently  to avoid waking the others. We spread our hijabs over our naked legs to serve as protection from the cold.

We talked about all and nothing, barely able to see each others faces in the dark.

We mocked Samira's dark skin colour, saying we could only see her teeth glistening in the darkness.

She played fake annoyance and acted like we had hurt her feelings. Claiming she was once a light skinned girl not until the blazing sun here took nature's gift away from her.

We didn't realise we were making noise till the girl opposite us woke up.

I apologised and looked at our matron, Hajiya Fatima, too be sure she was still asleep. She was snoring away heavily, her head twisted in an odd position with her left leg completely out of her mattress.

I pointed that out and we bursted into another round of laughter. I wish all the guards slept like her, then I would have made my escape a long time ago.

We heard a shout outside, It was master and Ahmed. Samira and Zahra scampered to their beds, waking three other persons due to the noise.

I shut my eyes and tried to sleep but the voices outside grew louder. It was obvious they were arguing.

Ahmed didn't live in the quarters, we heard he had a wife and children outside, along with a responsible job with the government. How was it possible a father and son could be so different? I have always asked myself.

I was sure master had more than four wives, this I knew was against the many rules in Islam. He probably had even more children and grandchildren.

Ahmed visited once in a while, driving casually into the quarters. Before he even finishes with parking his car, we would grab our washing tools, running to go wash his car.

He would then throw towards us sweets, snacks or any edibles he brought with him. There would be a rush between us on who gets to pick them first, the weaker ones pushed aside.

He and master never argued whenever he came, therefore I was curious. I opened a bit of the raffia curtain, exposing a ray of moonlight in the dark room.

Ahmed gestured angrily, shouting and speaking in hausa at master who returned the same energy. Danladi looked like he was trying to settle the arguement without success. He was in their middle, using his hands to push both of them aside.

I couldn't hear them properly, even if I could, I wouldn't be able to fully understand what they were saying.

I had been given birth to and spent all my life living in the southern part of Nigeria, making it difficult to fully understand  and speak the hausa language. Although, it was better than when I first arrived.

This was why a captive named Mufida, had taken advantage of me. She had asked me for a portion of my food though I tried communicating to her then that I couldn't understand her language. She whispered to the girl next to her who spoke to me in English that Mufida was going to get me more food. I happily handed my whole plate of food to her and she never returned. When I realized later, I was too weak to revenge. I let it slide.

I closed the curtains, returning the room to total darkness. I knew Zahra and Samira weren't asleep but it was best to not go over.

I turned on my mat uncomfortably, it wasn't serving it's purpose any longer. A large part of it was torn, making me lie partly on the bare ground and partly on the mat.
I tried shifting my whole body on the mat, but it just wouldn't fit. Not as if I was even that large or fat.

The other day, I had complained to the chief guard, Danladi, about the torn mat even when I already knew what the answer would be. He had looked at me with a scorn on his face. That was all I needed to know that what I asked was stupid.

We were more than 200 in a room, compressed like canned sardines in a room meant for the minimum of 50 people. The matron or patron taking a quarter of that space to themselves.

Most times,the heat was unbearable. After a tiring day, people fell asleep without having a shower.

By shower, I mean washing only the major parts of your body in a zinc container built to act as a bathroom for the captives.

At least they were kind enough to separate the boys bath from the girls. I managed to have a true bath once a month.

Water was scarce and when it flowed, they were preserved majorly for cooking.
The captives would fill the drums meant for the guards usage first, then whatever was left after all these we could then use.

When we sleep, the heat, sweat, odour all sort of come together to create the worst kind of stench.

Scientists say olfactory fatigue is when the nose is unable to distinguish a particular odour after a long time of perceiving it. That was very true, because we all at some point had gotten used to it.

Dawn was fast approaching, I had to be up at the sound of the first cock crow. I closed my eyes, praying to fall asleep.